If you feel like you are getting too much Something Authorly already it’s about to get worse…
That’s right everybody, I’m pregnant!
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Hide yo kids, hide yo wife, hide yo husband, hide yo tampons and hide yo hand sanitizer too, cuz the teenagers be getting fucked up on errythang. Or at least journalists think that they are.
Partying Level: Teenager
There are things that you find on the internet that just make you heart swell. Things that restore your faith in humanity. Things like conjecturing on how much money one would need to recreate Scrooge McDuck’s coin and treasure filled swimming pool/vault. According to this site’s misreading of Matt Power’s article over at The Billfold, it ‘s $486,830.
Uhhh, yeah, what else do you do with money?
Unless you already did the porn. Then you’re fucked.
If you haven’t heard about Stacie Halas, here’s a few headlines to get you up to speed:
Say what you will about right wing hack news organizations, they do know how to write action packed headline.
Ah, slow news days. Nothing much going on. Nothing to get your undies in a bunch about. Nope, just a bunch of light fluff about Kanye and Kim Kardashian and Holy Hannah! washing machines are almost as dangerous as turbine engines! Tell us all about it Shine Staff member called Piper Weiss of Yahoo!:
My first thought was OMG, this washing machine is out of control! It’s sending grisly warnings to parents? What does it want? Money? An unlimited supply of Tide? To be moved to a room with a window? Goddamnit tell me Piper!
First, because I love you all like Tricky luud the kids: From the bottom of my heart- Sorry about missing Friday’s post. I had a real streak going there. And I blew it. I got wrapped up in something I’m not proud of. I got caught in up in mass hysteria. Not only that, but mass hysteria for stupid people. Stupid people whose ranks I marched right into with head held high. I would have gladly carried an Iwo Jima-sized flag that read “Stupid Person” and carried it through downtown LA (or somewhere with a lot of judgmental people who like to tsk strangers) such was my delusion at 4:17 p.m. on Friday the 30th of March in the year of our lord, two-thousand and twelve.
Homeboys and homegirls, there is nothing I would like more than to become internet famous from this blog (That’s not a hint. Start spamming your friends.) but there are two other things I’d like to do as well. I would like to publish books. And I would like to earn some sort of income. As my resume has failed to ignite the employment frenzy I’d planned on, I began looking for other revenue streams, as the business folks say. I thought I found one last Friday.
I bought a bunch of lottery tickets.
There’s a game I play sometimes called The Handshake Game. It basically involves getting people to shake your hand and trying to come up with creative ways to make to give horrible handshakes. You’ve succeeded when the other person gets that shivery feeling akin to the sensation when you rub a finger too far back on the roof of your mouth. If there are no goosebumps, you aren’t doing it right. The obvious and easiest way to accomplish this is to give somebody the “Dead Fish”. This is the New York Yankees of bad handshakes. Everybody hates it and yet it’s somehow ubiquitous. You can’t be introduced to a group of people and not get at least one despite the fact that it’s universally maligned. It’s like socks with sandals. I mean, you have Teh internets, for christ’s sake. The dead fish thing is so universally reviled that I question the character of the person who unwittingly offers one.
